


I DID Wish You Luck

by thisstarvingartist



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Episode: s02e19 The Immunity Syndrome, First Kiss, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Near Death Experience
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-28
Updated: 2018-09-28
Packaged: 2019-07-18 17:00:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16122893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisstarvingartist/pseuds/thisstarvingartist
Summary: Jim Kirk and McCoy were the first of the crew to enter the cargo hold once the shuttle had landed—reasonable, of course, given that they were the captain and the chief medical officer, respectively, and Commander Spock had just returned from a trip which had very nearly cost him his life. Certainly it made logical sense for two of the three most vital members of the ship’s crew to personally receive the third upon his return.Perhaps less logical were the coursing tears that distorted both men’s vision, as they rushed to his side. He very gracefully stumbled out of the shuttle, each man taking a place at one of his flanks to hold him steady on his feet.





	I DID Wish You Luck

Jim Kirk and McCoy were the first of the crew to enter the cargo hold once the shuttle had landed—reasonable, of course, given that they were the captain and the chief medical officer, respectively, and Commander Spock had just returned from a trip which had very nearly cost him his life. Certainly it made logical sense for two of the three most vital members of the ship’s crew to personally receive the third upon his return.

Perhaps less logical were the coursing tears that distorted both men’s vision, as they rushed to his side. He very gracefully stumbled out of the shuttle, each man taking a place at one of his flanks to hold him steady on his feet.

“It is merely the repercussion of oxygen loss, to be expected by the shuttle’s malfunction,” Spock informed them, not attempting to protest Jim’s tearful fawning over his recovered comrade, his companion, his th’y’la. “I will undoubtedly recover my faculties within the hour, and be able to return to my regular duties.”

“Oh, no, you don’t,” McCoy snapped, insistently pulling Spock’s arm over his shoulders in order to better support him, despite the Vulcan’s mild resistance. “You just survived a _suicide mission_ , Spock, you green-blooded moron. If you think you’re going anywhere aside from sickbay and your own quarters for at _least_ the next twenty-four hours, you’ve got another thing coming.”

“Doctor, I assure you that such an extensive period is not necessary for adequate recovery from this experience,” Spock said, seeming almost affronted by the doctor’s gal.

“Consider it an order,” Jim said, wiping a hand over his face, the smile that had been painted across it since they had escaped the mysterious creature still shining bright, across tear streaked cheeks. “You deserve the rest, Spock. Checkov can handle the con while Bones takes care of you.” The hand already resting on Spock’s arm rubbed slow circles as his free palm reached out to cup Spock’s jaw, the gesture soft and intimate.

Despite himself, Spock conceded to the persistence of both men, albeit reluctant, and allowed himself to be led through the corridors of the Enterprise to reach their destination.

The excursion itself was no longer than twelve-point-three-six minutes, but in that time, a number of crew members passed them by, and each one made some sort of acute acknowledgement of Spock’s return, many saluting, many others going so far as to applaud. Spock feigned his standard level of polite, if somewhat baffled, acknowledgement of his fellow crew’s thanks, though McCoy would have claimed, were he asked, that the Vulcan was at least a little bit flattered beneath is reserved exterior.

Spock would have calmly disagreed with the doctor’s sentiment, to which McCoy would have argued that he was ‘clearly at least a _little bit_ proud of himself’ regarding the entire affair. Spock would then, once again, insist upon the doctor’s mistaken speculation about his emotional state, thereby incurring an expressive and mildly offensive insult from the man in question. Then Kirk would, as per his nature, cheerfully intervene, soothing his aggrieved husband’s compromised emotional state with gentle touches and soft words, while at the same time teasingly suggesting that, despite Spock’s ‘cold’ demeanor, he did indeed experience at least some level of the feeling McCoy speculated upon.

The same predictable pattern, incurred after many consecutive years of cohabitation aboard the starship, was rinsed and renewed on a regular basis between the three men. For the briefest minutes, it had appeared that the pattern would have been broken, when Spock departed from the Enterprise for what they had mutually understood to be his final mission. Now, in the quiet moments while they made their way to sickbay, Spock played over that repetitive behavior in his mind, finding some strange kind of solace in the knowledge that such interactions were not, in fact, over; the future held for them, it seemed, more companionable bickering and subsequent good cheer, than he had resigned himself to not more than a few hours before.

Kirk helped Spock to the nearest cot while McCoy ushered the clamoring medical staff out of the sickbay with no small amount of irritation, and in minutes the three of them were left alone in the room together.

Jim, now in relative private with his two closest companions, sagged wearily against Spock’s shoulder, gratefully taking the hand Spock proffered to him into his own and holding it tightly in his lap. Bones, moderately still in control of his faculties—to Spock’s mild surprise—busied himself with every medical evaluation he could possibly come up with. Waving a tricorder over Spock’s body for the (he had, of course, been counting) seventh time, Spock finally intervened, raising a palm to stay Bones’ roving hand.

“Don’t test me, Spock,” McCoy warned, shrugging away his gentle grip and resuming his examination.

“In fact, Doctor, I believe it is _I_ who is being tested—in a quite literal sense,” Spock responded, receiving only a scathing glare in response.

“ _Chekov to the Captain,_ ” Chekov’s voice chirped through the communicator at Kirk’s hip. “ _We need you on the Bridge, sir._ ”

“On my way,” Kirk replied, clearing his throat and gratefully accepting the tissue handed to him by McCoy. “Thanks, Bones.”

“Any time, darlin’,” he said. “You get back up there and get this ship home, y’here?”

“Consider it done.” Jim caught Bones before he left the office, pulling his spouse into a tight hug before stealing a swift kiss and backing out of the sickbay, staring between his two beloveds before straightening himself up, returning himself to his usual commanding air, and disappeared into the hall.

Several silent minutes passed while McCoy continued to run tests, not so much as making eye contact with his patient. Spock performed a quick mental catalogue of his recently incurred data, in order of what he believed the doctor would find the most interesting

“I believe, regarding your previously mentioned acetylcholine test, you will find that—”

“I did,” McCoy interrupted him suddenly, and Spock stopped himself, turning to look at the doctor. His eyes were still focused on his work, but there was a quiver in his demeanor that left an unfamiliar sensation in the base of Spock’s chest.

“Did what, Doctor?”

“Wish you luck,” he said, finally stopping his repetitive work to look up at Spock. His eyes were glazed. “I did. You didn’t hear me, because I waited until you were in the shuttle, because I knew you’d give me that look—yes, _that_ one,” he said, appearing irked, and Spock dropped his brow. “And I wouldn’t even bring it up, I know you don’t believe in all that human superstition, but I just need you to know that I—”

“As you would say, it is ‘the thought that counts’ in this particular circumstance,” Spock told him. “I did not doubt that your concern for my safety was concrete. Though I did not hear your wish to me, it nonetheless appeared to have aided in my venture.”

A sharp, manic laugh escaped McCoy. “What are you saying—you don’t _actually think_ you survived that because I wished you luck, do you?”

“You are not often such a skeptic, Doctor,” Spock said. “Indeed, I would go so far as to say that I cannot construe what has occurred as anything less than a miracle.”

“…can’t find it in me to argue,” McCoy muttered, leaning against the biobed with Spock. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t come back; Lord knows Jim would’ve been lost without you.”

“Indeed, I cannot express my relief at knowing that I can remain at his side after this endeavor.”

McCoy’s eyes remained glassy, and he sighed. Spock could see the wear in his face.

“Leonard…”

When McCoy looked up, Spock’s hand was raised, two fingers extended out in an offering to him. He seemed startled, and then he laughed, shaking his head.

“Boy-oh-boy, Spock, you certainly have a knack for timing,” he muttered, flushing pink.

Spock’s fingers lowered. “If you would be adverse to exploring this aspect of our relationship, I respect your decision not to—”

He had predicted a 62.3% chance of the good doctor interrupting him with a kiss, and a 31.8% chance of him slapping Spock across the face. Fortunately, it seemed that the doctor had opted for the former. His lips were warm and chapped, and Spock softened his lips before pursuing, the gentlest touch to communicate his affections to the doctor.

McCoy pulled away, sighing, and he dropped his head onto Spock’s shoulder.

“Jim’ll be thrilled,” he muttered, as if it were some grand misfortune to please the captain.

“Indeed,” Spock agreed, very gently stroking McCoy’s back. “Do not fret, Leonard. I have not left you at this time.”


End file.
